


A Story To Be Told

by Nicxan



Category: Ghost (Sweden Band)
Genre: Gen, Implied Murder, Implied/Referenced Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:21:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23845918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nicxan/pseuds/Nicxan
Summary: Cardinal Copia explores Papa III's ransacked room.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	A Story To Be Told

It was strange to see Papa Emeritus III’s room in such shambles.   
  
His prized collections were strewn about the premises. Prized pictures were on the floor, their frames shattered. The drawers were thrown about carelessly; the clothes within were torn, nearly ripped to shreds. He had always bragged about his expensive garments. To see them like this ...   
  
It left Copia a bit shaken.   
  
He hadn’t known that this was going to happen. Sure, he had inklings of Sister’s plans to make sure he rose to the top. But ... murder? He hadn’t planned on that, nor had she told him. Mostly likely because he would have told -- no, begged -- her not to. But nothing could be done now.   
  
Copia hesitated before stepping inside the ruins of a once-glamorous room. The sound of cracked glass made him jump and he promptly stepped back. He had stepped on a picture of a woman he didn’t recognize. She had a fancy black dress on, and ... he had her nose. Copia’s heart sank as he gingerly stepped around the picture.   
  
He didn’t dare to pick it up.   
  
‘ _It’s like a tomb,_ ’ Copia thought to himself while looking around. He couldn’t stay here long; the now deceased Papa would absolutely hate it. But he couldn’t help but wonder how he lived. How he was after being dethroned. How ... how ... ‘ _No, don’t think about it._ ’   
  
He accidentally brushed against the silken sheets of Papa III’s bed as he went to one of the two night tables. They felt infernally wonderful; he’d have to ask for something similar in his own room. Copia cursed himself for even daring to think that.   
  
Then, a stack of papers thrown about caught his eye.   
  
Copia couldn’t help but be curious. He crouched by the papers. Some were ripped, some were torn into shreds -- ghouls acting on orders? -- but a few were in near immaculate condition. Copia picked them up and began to read. The papers were the precious remains of a glorious songwriter; he needed to treat them with respect.   
  
His heart stopped once he realized that it was a song.   
  
_‘Eternal Life’_   
  
Lyrics about longing in love, and the death that was inevitable. Something that would last forever, a bond that would transcend even this mortal coil. Copia read it, awed, flicking through the pages over and over. He even managed to decipher some of the words hidden behind mad scribbles, indicating the Papa’s unhappiness with that draft.   
  
It was all so beautiful to him. Copia couldn’t help but exhale slowly in sheer awe. This was a masterpiece. This -- this was something special. Why hadn’t it been on his album?   
  
... Maybe ...   
  
“No!” The mere idea seemed sacrilegious. People would know. People would whisper about him -- and not in the way he wanted them to. He’d be a thief. A desecrator of something and someone people found so sacred.   
  
But the Papa hadn’t published it. It was hidden in a drawer away from the world ... and maybe -- maybe he could bring it to light. It would be a good enough excuse if people asked. Copia would just say that he was nervous to bring up fresh wounds or didn’t want to upset people at the time of a great change. Yes, that was it. That would be a good enough reason ...   
  
He continued to stare at the draft of some of the most beautiful lyrics he had ever seen. If only he could write something like this himself.   
  
‘ _I can change some of it,_ ’ Copia told himself. ‘ _I can switch the title. Adjust some of the words. No one would ever know._ ’ He slowly rose to his feet, still reading the words over and over.   
  
This couldn’t be thrown away. If he went to Sister about this first, surely she’d find a way to make it work. This song was just something he couldn’t bear to leave behind. She would have to agree with him on that. Even she couldn’t deny the beauty of this work.   
  
Copia began to walk out of the room. The crunch of plastic beneath his feet made him pause and he looked down to see ... a kazoo. A bundle of them, actually, all in different shades and colors.   
  
He wrinkled his nose and kicked a few aside as he made his way out.

**Author's Note:**

> Well I wrote this pretty fast whoops
> 
> I read somewhere that Tobias said that Copia was a horrible song writer, so this came to mind. And apparently I'm not the only one!
> 
> Thanks to CaptainAddict, LordBlumiere, and Kisstheghost for looking this over!


End file.
